


Red Cross

by Ruuger



Series: Episode tags for The Mentalist [7]
Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s03e17 Bloodstream, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-30
Updated: 2011-04-30
Packaged: 2017-10-18 20:06:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/192753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruuger/pseuds/Ruuger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jane, Lisbon and some platonic TLC.  Episode tag for "Bloodstream".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Cross

Jane stared at the medal of Saint Sebastian, trying to quell the envy he felt for the man who'd given it to him. Enid may have been seriously ill with only a small hope of survival, but at least she was still alive. It was a terrible thing to be envious about, to be so selfish as to wish for his wife to be sick and in pain instead of gone, but he couldn't help it. There was nothing he wouldn't do, nothing he wouldn't give to have her back even for just a minute, and during moments of weakness he sometimes found himself wishing that he could believe in the lie that sustained people like Byron.

He shook his head and raised his cup to his lips, taking a sip of his tea. He was surprised to find it bitter and lukewarm, and realised that he must have been lost in his thoughts longer than he'd thought. He swallowed another mouthful of the tea and then poured the rest to the sink and dropped the teabag in the biodegradables bin.

He put the cup down on the counter and reached for the electric kettle to boil more water, but as he turned to plug in the cord, his elbow hit the cup and it fell to the floor, smashing into little green shards.

"Fuck."

"Wow. I didn't even know you had that word in your vocabulary."

When Jane looked up, he saw Lisbon standing in the doorway, her lips curved to a amused smile. He answered her smile, slipping the medal into his pocket before she could see it.

"Well, it was my favourite cup. I think that warrants a profanity or two."

He bent down to pick up the pieces, but froze in mid-movement when a twinge of pain suddenly shot across his shoulder.

"Jane? Are you okay?"

He must have let the pain show on his face because Lisbon was suddenly standing next to him with a concerned look on her face. He leaned to the counter, closing his eyes for a second to get the pain under control before answering.

"Yeah, I think I just pulled a muscle in my back when Igor the Ogre shoved me against the wall at the hospital."

She gave him a curious look, most likely trying to determine if he was lying, before grabbing a few paper towels and kneeling on the floor.

"Thanks."

She wiped away the few drops of spilled tea and then gathered the broken pieces of dishware in her hand and tossed them in the trash with the towels.

"No problem."

He gave her some space as she leaned over the sink to wash her hands. She was still wearing that look on her face that she only had when she was trying to decide whether to believe him or not, and he found himself both amused and hurt by her suspicion. He'd cried wolf so many times that he suspected next time she would wait until the wolf was chewing his leg before coming to his rescue.

She took longer than necessary to dry her hands, and then looked at him straight in the eye.

"C'mon. I've got some Tigerbalm in my desk drawer. That should help with your back."

Jane was still feeling off-balance after his encounter with Byron, and instead of arguing he found himself following Lisbon into her office. When they were inside she closed the door behind them and gestured at the couch.

"Sit down."

There was a hint of reproach in her voice, and for the briefest moment he wondered if she'd just tricked him to coming into her office so that she could ask him about Red John. He realised the absurdity of the thought as soon as it popped into his mind. Lisbon didn't know about Todd Johnson's connection to Red John, or about Hightower, and had no reason to suspect anything. And even if she did, she wouldn't bother playing games with him to get to the truth.

As she turned away from him to close the blinds, Jane sat down and took a deep breath, willing his mind to clear. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep the intrusive thoughts under control, but he was hoping that as long as he could at least recognise the irrational paranoia for what it was, he was fine.

"Take your shirt off."

When he opened his eyes, Lisbon was standing in front of him, arms akimbo, like some office-fantasy dominatrix.

He tried to think of some suitably rude reply to her command - the reward for pissing her off would be the chance to escape back to the safety of the attic - before settling for a leering smile, always a good choice when it came to trying to get under her skin. She raised an eyebrow, but refused to rise to the bait.

"You won't be able to put it on yourself, unless your mysterious past at the carnival included being a contortionist."

She turned away again, seemingly to rummage her desk drawer to find the cream, but he knew she was only making a show of it to give him some modicum of privacy. He was grateful of the gesture, and took off his jacket and unbuttoned his vest, folding them neatly on the back of the couch. His shirt followed, and even though she still wasn't looking at him, he had to resist the urge to cross his arms protectively across his chest. Instead he just leaned forward, bowing his head and resting his elbows on his knees. A moment later he felt the leather tip as Lisbon sat down on the couch next to him.

His shoulders tensed in anticipation, but he managed not to flinch when he finally felt her touch on his skin. Her fingers ghosted across his back, light as a feather, before pausing over his right shoulder blade. He hadn‘t checked if the incident at the hospital had left any new bruises, but he knew there would still be old ones still visible from when Hightower had wrestled the gun from him.

"Jane... What happened to you?"

He reflexively hunched further down to hide the matching bruise on his chest left by the butt of the shotgun, considering every possible lie he could tell her before settling for the approximation of truth.

"Hightower. She knocked me to the floor when she took me hostage."

She let out a barely audible sigh, her fingers tracing a path to his side where there were still faint marks left by Rachel's cattle prod. He felt her thumb rub across one of the scars, and then suddenly her hands were gone, leaving him oddly disappointed by the loss of contact. He idly wondered if this was it, if seeing him like this was what was finally going to make her take away his CBI ID and march him to the department psychiatrist to be fixed, but then her fingers returned, slick from Tigerbalm, as she began to spread the cream.

"You should be more careful. If you keep up like this, one of these days you'll get yourself killed. I can't always be there to save you." She paused her ministrations, and he could feel her breath tickle his neck as she leaned forwards. "And if you say one word about how nobody would miss you if you were dead, I swear I'll punch you."

He craned his neck to look at her. "You're threatening me with violence to make me take better care of myself? Isn't that a little hypocritical?"

She gave him a playful shove. "Shut up, Jane."

Jane grinned to himself in the shelter of his arms, and then closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of her hands on his skin. He'd almost forgotten what it felt being touched like this, with kindness, and he resisted the temptation to pretend that he deserved this, deserved to be cared for by someone like this. To indulge on one of the little fantasies he only allowed himself on his darkest moments, when not even the prospect of killing Red John was enough to get up from bed in the morning - dreams that were usually just as much a punishment as they were a reward.

"I still can't believe she killed those men," Lisbon said.

She was blaming herself, he could tell, and he felt the obligation to distract her from the guilt. She was always happier when she was angry.

"Don't beat yourself about it. I didn't see it either. And if I didn't see it coming, what chance did the rest of you have?"

Lisbon let out an irritated snort, her fingers pressing slightly harder on a sore spot just for a second. Jane considered feigning injury, but he was fairly sure she'd done it subconsciously, and would only feel bad if he drew her attention to it.

"It just doesn't make any sense. Why would she kill Montero too, just for giving Todd the gun?"

"The need for revenge isn't exactly logical. I would have thought that after all these years of working with me you'd know that."

She said nothing, and after a moment her hands stilled, and then left his skin. She hopped down from the couch and grabbed a kleenex from her desk, avoiding his eyes as she wiped her hands.

He took the opportunity to put on his shirt again, uncaring of the stains the cream would leave.

"Thank you. This- this was very kind of you." He suddenly felt vulnerable, all his walls and defences still out of place. He grabbed his vest and turned his back to her. "Your bedside manner could still use some work, though."

One of the throw pillows hit the back of his head.

"That just proves my point," he said, casting a look at her over his shoulder, just in time to see her roll her eyes.

"Are you going home?"

He made a show of putting on his vest; an excuse to avoid her eyes so as not to see the pity he knew would be there. "No. I still have some work to do."

She was quiet for a long time, until he suddenly felt the hesitant touch of her hand on his arm.

"Jane, do me a favor. If you spend the night at the office, don't sleep in the attic. If you don't want to sleep in the bullpen, you can stay in my room." She tilted her head and smiled. "Isn't that why you bought me a bigger couch?"

He gasped theatrically, feigning offence.

"Can't a man buy his friend a gift without being suspected of having ulterior motives? I was merely thinking about your image as the modern go-getter senior agent. The couch you had before was an eyesore."

"Hey! I picked that couch myself!"

"Yes, I could tell. I've seen your apartment, remember."

"Says a man who sleeps on a bed made out of couple of saw horses and an old door."

She bit her lip, clearly regretting her words as soon as they were out. They were veering into dangerous territory again. It was the lynchpin of their relationship, her ability to convince herself that he was as sane as he pretended to be. He knew he hadn't been able to fool her for years, but she was still doing a pretty good job at lying to herself.

He looked away, doing his part by pretending that he hadn't heard her, and picked up his coat.

"Good night, Lisbon. And thank you."

"Good night, Jane."


End file.
